


Retrouvaille

by heavenseed



Category: Orphan Black (TV), The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: 1990s, 2000s, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Daryldixon, Desus - Freeform, Gay Male Character, Healthcare, M/M, Paul Rovia - Freeform, Post-Apocalypse, Pre-Apocalypse, Rating: M, daryl dixon - Freeform, paul rovia deserves better, thewalkingdead, walkingdead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2019-06-13 04:09:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15355911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavenseed/pseuds/heavenseed
Summary: Retrouvaille(n.) the joy of meeting or finding someone again after a long separation; rediscoveryre-trU-'vI





	1. Lee Memorial Care Center

**Author's Note:**

> Jesus and Daryl work together and develop a relationship. But then the world ends, and they lose track of one another. Finding each other again is a 1:1,000,000 chance.
> 
> Secondary characters from other Fandoms will appear, just because I love them. This is primarily a Walking Dead Desus Fic.
> 
> Pinterest: https://pin.it/e3lndiysh7by4k

Lee Memorial Care Center wasn’t a fancy senior home by any means. It was small and homey, with just enough staff to keep it running. It didn’t pay as well as some places, but it was just the kind of gig Daryl could tolerate: minimal patient contact, varied tasks, manual labor. Washing dishes and bussing tables for a regular paycheck wasn’t half bad, considering he had spent the last ten years drifting. Now that his brother Merle was doing 10-15 hard time, he had a chance to make a home for himself.

He was living with a kid named Felix, a queer artist who rented out his couch for cash. They would often share meals, and Felix was never stingy with his booze. Daryl agreed to six months, so he could save up a deposit for his own place. The goal was to get as far away from Merle’s buddies and the lifestyle his brother lived, and while Daryl didn’t bat an eye at Felix’s obvious penchant for the dramatic and his adoring eye, he knew this was far, far outside his brother’s comfort zone. When he would pick up his mail from the PO box he kept, he would find a short letter every few weeks from Merle, and they always started with, “Where you been baby brother?” Daryl always wrote back, put a few dollars credit on his brother’s account, but never answered where he had been.

Daryl’s life was finding a rhythm. Up at dawn, down to the gym on the same block as Felix’s studio, home to shower and eat, work from 7-3 (most days), then to the library or the nearby State Park for a few hours, then back home to sleep and eat. On his days off he would drive farther out to hunt or he would find a movie theater to pass the time. Every once in a blue moon he would go into Atlanta to play pool. He found himself a gig at a bar on his weekends off from the nursing home as a bouncer and occasional drummer for the house cover band.

He was finding a routine… until he met Paul Rovia.

The first time he laid eyes on him, Paul was in a three piece suit, tweed in a shade of brown that complemented his honey-colored locks and a silk tie that matched his eyes – a shimmering blue-green. He wore expensive-looking pair of brown shoes with a square toe, and carrier a leather satchel that matched. He heard a deep, hearty laugh from in the kitchen, and had come out to see who it belonged to. Two other kitchen staff watched the man in the lobby with appreciative curiosity. Daryl snorted, “Prick.” He walked back into the kitchen without a second glance. 

Two weeks later, Daryl barely recognized the man who walked into the lobby in scrubs, hair in a bun. Paul Rovia was to be the new day shift charge nurse. To Daryl, the man seemed jovial and overly eager to please, introducing himself to all the residents, despite the fact that many of them wouldn’t remember him tomorrow. That first day, Daryl stuck to the dish room. He just scoffed at the servers and some of the other nurses talking about how pretty the new guy was.

By the third day, however, Paul Rovia was ushering residents to the dining room and helping to remove trays. Daryl often had the radio on and turned up so he wouldn’t have to make small talk with all the staff and residents who came by with dirty dishes. This day was no exception. Paul, on the other hand, had different ideas. Daryl had the radio tuned to a hard rock station, which was blaring Iron Maiden during the noon hour. As Paul walked a tray over to the dish room window, he heard the strains of Run to the Hills over the din of noise in the dining room. 

“Aw man! I love Maiden!” Paul began scraping dishes into the garbage. Daryl watched as Paul deftly sang along with the song. Paul set down the dish and began playing a little air guitar, before reaching for another dish to scrape. Daryl watched with a confusing mix of amusement and annoyance, before taking the dish from Paul’s hands and scraping it into the garbage on his side of the window. Paul startled and stopped singing. “What? You don’t like Iron Maiden?” He almost pouted.

Daryl smirked then, at the depth of feeling Paul conveyed with his impossibly blue eyes. “Love Maiden, man. But your air guitar’s out of tune.” 

Paul let out a hearty laugh, throwing his head back. Daryl smiled and watched tendrils of loose hair skim across that long neck. Shaking himself, Daryl just smiled as Paul turned away, singing softly, and he turned up the radio.

And so it went like that, as Paul got acclimated to his new job, and Daryl’s life kept rolling along with routine and normality. They spoke only through the dish room window, about music, concerts, radio stations. Neither man would admit it, but lunch was something they each grew to look forward to. Daryl could watch Paul smile and geek out about music, which turned his own smile on more and more often; Paul could watch Daryl as he emptied the steam washer, arms and face glistening from the heat. Talking about something other than work made Daryl’s day go faster, and even though he figured Paul was more into someone like his roommate Felix, he still enjoyed the company.

They never seemed to meet up other than during meals. They didn’t have the same schedule, nor the same breaks. It changed the day Daryl came in to work to find an ambulance in the parking lot. It was early morning, before the breakfast meal and while an ambulance at a nursing home was not unusual, it was rare to see them at 600am. As he entered the back door of the building, he was nearly bowled over by three burly EMTs and a gurney, stepping out of their way to hold the door. Atop the gurney, a very red-faced Paul Rovia was straddling someone Daryl could not identify, giving chest compressions. Daryl watched as one EMT gave breaths with a bag, and another maneuvered an IV around the gurney. A third EMT flung open the doors of the ambulance.

“Hey, you can let us take over.” Paul was told by an EMT. They were about to load the unconscious person into the ambulance. Daryl noted the taut muscles of forearms and biceps working to keep a heart circulating blood and the way lithe legs kept Paul’s body weight off his patient, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, to provide even compressions without tiring himself out.

“3…4….5…get her…7…. Inside….9….” The nurse kept at CPR, not pausing to speak. His face was red, a line of sweat stuck his shirt against his spine, his scrubs a darker shade of blue there. Daryl watched with fascination as they loaded the gurney into the ambulance.

Daryl waited a few breaths before turning to go into the building, catching the thump of shoes on cement as he heard Paul jump from the vehicle, slamming the doors closed. His last look over to the ambulance caught the nurse leaning over, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. Another nurse in scrubs, who had followed the gurney out the door put an affectionate hand on Paul’s back as they both watched the ambulance.

As Daryl entered the kitchen, the quiet of the place was loud in his ears. Most of the staff from the kitchen and a dozen or so residents watched the ambulance outside. They all expected the ambulance to drive away fairly quickly. He clocked in and put his jacket, phone and keys in his locker, donned a hair net and started the coffeemaker just like he did every day. Clean trays went out to the serving line, dry pans from the night before were put back in their place and he loaded the few dishes left from the evening snack into a dishwasher tray. Walking from the dish room back into the kitchen, he was still alone. Around another corner, he could see staff and residents still watching the ambulance.

“They still here?” Daryl mumbled mostly to himself.

“Yeah… not a good sign.” One of the nursing assistants answered. “God, I hope she’s OK….”

Daryl was caught off guard. “Who was it?” He asked. There seemed to be far more interest in this ambulance call than any he could really remember. 

“Carrie, one of the first floor aides.”

Daryl flinched. “That little tiny thing – real young?”

The nursing assistant, whose nametag said ‘Shannon’ nodded gravely. “She just collapsed. Couldn’t get a pulse, so Jesus just yelled for help and started CPR.”

“Sad.” Daryl shook his head, truly feeling sorry for his co-worker. “Who the hell is Jesus?”

Shannon snorted at Daryl’s look of confusion. “Paul. The nurse. Some of the residents think he looks like Jesus, so they started calling him that.”

Daryl just rolled his eyes, lip curling as if he smelled something off. “Well, I ain’t.” He said to no one in particular, before going back into the kitchen to get breakfast started.

Lunch was a quiet, somewhat somber affair. The staff were tense, and the residents missed the bubbly aide helping them in the tray line and feeding those that needed the help.

Daryl kept the radio low, and Paul didn’t seem to notice. The nurse appeared distracted as he pulled residents out of the dining room to take blood sugars and give insulin. He gave Daryl a half smile through the dish room window, when Daryl offered a half-hearted wave in passing. Like the steam from the dishwasher made Daryl’s skin flush, he could see stress painting Paul’s face into a pale mask. 

When the lunch rush was over, Daryl stood outside the dumpsters, as per usual, and lit a cigarette. He still wore his apron and hairnet, taking a breather before prepping for dinner and clocking out. 

“Got another one of those?” Paul’s voice and proximity gave Daryl a start, but feeling the stress rolling off his co-worker, he simply handed over the lit cigarette. “Thanks.” Paul crouched down and took a long drag.

Daryl pulled out the pack and lit another cigarette for himself, studying the nurse.

“She’s gonna be ok.” Daryl said softly. “She’s young. Healthy.”

Paul took another long drag off the cigarette. “They stayed, though. When an ambulance doesn’t leave right away, it’s usually a bad sign.”

Daryl didn’t respond for several minutes. He weighed what the nurse had said, whether it had any merit. It seemed as though Paul truly cared for Carrie.

“That’s bullshit.” Daryl crushed his cigarette out with the toe of his boot and crossed his arms. “You care about her?”

Paul stood, also crushing out the borrowed cigarette. “Of course. She’s an awesome aide.”

“That girls needs you to believe she’ll be OK. It’s like you’ve already written her off. Quit planning her funeral.”

Paul considered Daryl’s words. Finally nodding, he replied, “Yeah. You’re totally right.” Paul flashed his 100 watt smile. “Thanks man. I’m just… we’re all just stressed, you know?”

“I get it. It’s one of your own.” Daryl began to walk back toward the kitchen door. He turned back after a few steps. “If you need to let off some steam, you should come by Bertie’s sometime. Buy you a beer?”

Paul’s expression could only be called a confused frown. The offer surprised him, and he wasn’t sure if Daryl was asking for a date or a wingman. “Sure? What’s Bertie’s?”

“Bar I work at – second job. I’m the bouncer from nine to close, unless I’m filling in for the drummer.” Daryl was nervous as hell, and Paul could tell. 

“You play the drums? Learn something new every day!” Paul’s look was fond. It was clear that Daryl’s words had made an impression – something that didn’t happen often for Paul.

“Hits from the nineties, man!” Daryl grinned lopsidedly, before turning to enter the building. Paul watched him go, his heart doing a little flip.


	2. Bertie’s Bar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul takes Daryl up on the offer of a beer, feels ensue. A protective friend has Daryl’s back.

For Paul, watching Daryl Dixon play the drums was like watching ballet. Impossibly precise, metered perfection, with flair and a physicality only certain individuals could achieve. He stood to the side of the stage, near the hallway to the bathrooms, watching sound check at Bertie’s. It was early in the evening, so the bar was fairly quiet. Hair down, in black jeans and a black leather jacket, Paul blended in easily. He listened and watched with fascination. The band would often stop to ask the sound guy to adjust this or that, Daryl would stand to adjust the drum kit to his liking. 

“Alright now, all the way through.” The singer started, counting out a rhythm. Full lights and sound, Paul recognized The Freshmen after the first few bars. Daryl kept time with his foot until the drums came in, mouthing the words and closing his eyes; he was feeling the music. He could see the discipline it took to play a song like The Freshmen, which started slowly and built up to an emotional crescendo.

Halfway through, a man about Paul’s own height, short, coifed black hair and a hint of well-applied make-up, came to stand near him, also watching the drummer. He was cute, but he wasn’t Paul’s type. He noticed the intensity of Paul’s gaze and raised an eyebrow at him, crossing his arms and pouting when it was clear that the only show Paul was interested in was the one Daryl was putting on.

Daryl had no idea he was being watched so closely, until the song ended and Paul began clapping. Daryl turned to see Paul, all wide smile and impossibly big eyes, leaning against the wall. Though the stage lights were still bathing them in colored shadows, the blush rising on his cheeks and disappearing beneath his shirt could not be missed. 

“Hey man!” Daryl attempted to be nonchalant. He grabbed his bag and came off the stage, getting a slap on the back from another band member as they followed him off.

“Nice!” Paul praised.

“And who is this?” The man standing beside Paul moved to stand between them. He had a thick London accent.

“Felix, this is Paul, one of my co-workers at Lee. Paul, Felix, my roommate.” Daryl introduced them Paul gave a congenial wave, while Felix gave him a once-over.

“My, you *are* pretty.” Paul and Daryl looked at each other. Felix just hummed in appreciation and walked away toward the bathrooms. Paul could have sworn Daryl’s blush deepened. 

“Flamer.” Daryl said under his breath. He smiled as he watched Felix go past. “Glad you could make it!”

“That was awesome! Can’t wait to hear some more.”

Daryl gestured to the bathroom, “I’m gonna change, and then I’ll buy you that beer.”

“Right on.” Paul watched him follow Felix into the men’s restroom and went back to holding up the wall.

Upon entering the bathroom, Daryl went straight to a stall to change. Felix was washing his hands.

“Daryl. Seriously? You’d peek your head out of the closet for that guy, over me?” Felix was fixing his hair, applying lip gloss to his pouty lips with his ring finger.

Daryl snorted. “It ain’t like that, Felix! He’s just someone I work with.”

“And I’m the Queen of England.“ Felix rolled his eyes at his own reflection. “If you don’t want him, can I?”

Daryl exited the stall dressed in black jeans and a tight black sleeveless t-shirt. Felix reached over and took Daryl’s face in his hands. “C’mere…” Daryl flinched and batted his hands away when Felix came at him with his eyeliner pencil.

“Stop!” Both men smiled through the mirror. Felix put the make-up away, pretending to be offended. “You know you’re my first love, Felix.”

“And you will betray me and break my heart…” Felix stashed his lip gloss and adjusted his clothing. “Are you going to tell him?” Felix leaned back against the sink, his voice serious.

“If… If I gotta. I don’t want to scare him away. Shits finally comin together for me.” Daryl hung his head, trying to hide his eyes.

“If he really likes you, cares about you, he’ll understand.” Felix reached out and gave his friend’s arm a squeeze. His demeanor changed like a flip of a switch. “But, OM MY GOD, he is so pretty!” Daryl blushed deep red as Felix gushed. “What I wouldn’t do to run my hands through that hair! You’ll have to tell me everything, later.” The young man made his exit, winking and grabbing Daryl’s ass as he passed him. Chuckling, Daryl following behind.

In the hallway, Felix saw Paul standing where Daryl had left him. “You have your work cut out for you, Paul.” Felix said, loudly enough for Paul to hear him as he came down the hallway. Felix continued into the growing crowd, Daryl stopping next to Paul.

Paul frowned in confusion. “Nevermind him.” Daryl assured his friend. When Paul saw Daryl’s outfit, his mouth went dry and he couldn’t speak. His eyes grew, taking in the glory that was Daryl Dixon’s biceps. The tight shirt clung to his abs like a second skin, pecs defined by the cut of the fabric. “Let’s get that beer.” Daryl led the way to the bar, letting Paul come back to himself, and pick his jaw up off the floor.

As they made their way, the singer of Daryl’s band called over to him. “On in ten, D!” Daryl lifted his chin in response.

By the time they got to the bar, there were two beers waiting. “Shots?” The bartender asked.

“You know it.” Daryl responded. Paul sat next to him on a stool.

“You’re a popular guy around here.” Everyone seemed to know Daryl, waving and saying hi.

“Been here about three months, nearly every weekend. I bounce when the bands not playing.”

Two dark beers and two shots of Jaegermeister appeared before them. Daryl watched as Paul took a long drink and then pulled a plump lip into his mouth to erase the foam from his beard. He could feel the heat staining his chest. He could feel the other man’s eyes as he tilted his own head back, revealing the delicious column of his throat. They watched each other silently for a moment, before Paul was leaning forward and letting his hair fall around him. Daryl was keenly aware that Felix and other friends in the bar were likely watching him too.

Gathering himself, Paul flipped his hair over one side of his head and raised his shot. “To new friends.”

“New friends.” Daryl raised his own glass. He still couldn’t take his eyes off Paul.

Thankfully, Paul liked to talk a lot when he was nervous, while Daryl was a man of few words. He learned Paul had relocated to do his Master’s degree, didn’t know many people in the area. He spent a lot of time at the dojo, and as many hours as possible working, when he wasn’t in a class. He lived alone in a tiny Graduate’s dorm on the college grounds, but he was rarely home. Ten minutes flew by fast, and Daryl was reluctant to get up from the bar when a bandmate grabbed his shoulder. He chanced a quick squeeze of Paul’s knee as he stood from the bar and made his way up from the stage. The electric spark of Daryl’s hand on him crackled all the way up to his stomach.

Paul began to relax against the bar, facing the crowd as the band made their way to the stage. He intended to watch from afar. Felix, however, had other ideas. He appeared next to Paul like a ghost, hooking one arm around his own. “Oh, no, no, no. You need to be front and center.” Felix all but dragged Paul into the crowd.

Not only was Daryl a mesmerizing force to behold, the entire show was bathed in muted light from several projections that changed with the music, the stage lights adding surreal color to the entire ensemble. As Paul and the rest of the crowd raised their arms to applaud after the first song, Felix pulled close to Paul. “D’you like it?”

“Daryl is fantastic! It’s awesome.” Paul could feel the excitement and energy of the crowd beginning to bubble inside his own skin.

“Projections. Those are mine.” Felix informed, quite proud of himself.

Paul gave him a thumbs up and turned back to the music. It wasn’t unfamiliar, the music. Clearly all covers, as Daryl had told him. What pulled him in was the way the man played his instrument. Many drummers lacked the finesse he saw while Daryl played. Reserved and soft, but powerful and commanding when he needed to be. Paul could see the music moving through the man as he played. And holy shit, the man had shoulders for days… He didn’t do any obnoxious twirls of his drumsticks or particularly complex drum work. But watching him build up from just keeping time to a full-body musical experience... It was sensual, and Paul felt like he couldn’t get enough.

It was difficult for Daryl to see past the lights and through the projections, but every now and again the light caught in Paul’s hair or reflected in his eyes. He and Felix were dancing next to each other, clearly enjoying the show. Daryl’s heart swelled- for the first time, he had people excited for what he was doing with his life. Halfway through the next to last song, Daryl caught a glimpse of Paul in the hallway, talking on the payphone. He didn’t have time to see much of the man as he was trying hard not to be distracted. Near the end of the song, Daryl looked up to see Paul standing next to the stairs to the stage, singing along. 

“When you come crash, into me, baby... And I come into... you...” He held a piece paper up to his lips and then set it down on the stage, along with a full shot glass to anchor it. And then Paul was gone. 

_“You are a talented man. Sorry I have to head out early. Drama. Call me. Paul.”_ Daryl grabbed the note as soon as the song ended. He pocketed the piece of paper with Paul’s phone number and climbed back behind the drum set to play the last song. _Phone number and a kiss_ , Daryl thought, and the weight of that piece of paper in his pocket put a smile on his face for the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. Working on two tics was a bad idea! The song at the end is Dave Matthews Band “Crash”. Keep the comments and constructive criticism coming! Secrets to be revealed soon!


	3. Paul's Apartment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul studies hard, but Daryl is a nice distraction. Something has Paul checking the locks on his door and the handgun in his drawer.

Paul’s focus was broken when his phone vibrated against his coffee table. He didn’t recognize the phone number, and almost declined the text. An unknown number filled him with dread.

_706-555-7829: Hey, it’s Daryl. You left pretty quick last night, just making sure everythings OK_

Paul picked up his new cell phone and had to read the text several times. To say he was surprised his co-worker was texting him was an understatement. He had hoped, sure, but he never thought it would actually happen. He sat in his tiny apartment, laptop and textbooks strewn around him, attempting to write a research paper.

_Paul: I’m good. Sorry about ducking out early. Ex-boyfriend drama. Didn’t want to hash it out there._

Paul quickly added Daryl’s number to his phone.

_D. Dixon: I hear ya. Had my own share of that bullshit._

_Paul: Boyfriends or drama?_

_D. Dixon: Both_

Paul’s heart did a little flip. He was unsure if their beer at the bar had been a date-type-thing, or just co-workers having a beer. The revelation that this quiet, mercurial man was, in fact, some flavor of queer, fed the tiny glimmer of hope growing in his stomach.

_Paul: Can’t imagine you having lots of drama. Seem like the kind of man who could kick some ass if he wanted to._

_D. Dixon: LOL. Didn’t you tell me you know karate? I’m sure you could hold your own._

_D. Dixon: Unless you’re asking me to kick someones ass for you?_

_Paul: LMAO. I can defend myself. Maybe we can spar sometime._

_D. Dixon: You want ass kicking lessons from me?_

Was Daryl Dixon… flirting?

_Paul: You kick ass as well as you play the drums?_

_D. Dixon: I’m just filling in. Hunting is my main thing, when I have the time._

_Paul: Like shooting defenseless bunnies for sport? ☹_

_D. Dixon: Shooting defenseless deer so I have food to eat, yeah. Not a sport._

_D. Dixon: Tell me you’re not a vegetarian_

_Paul: Nah. I like my steak rare, thanks_

_D. Dixon: Interesting…_

Why yes, Daryl Dixon was flirting!

_Paul: You’re not this chatty at work…_

_Daryl: I’m better when I don’t have your gorgeous eyes watching me._

_Daryl: *blush*_

Paul blushed himself, thankful Daryl couldn’t see him.

_Paul: You are too sweet. I’m interested to know what kind of drama a guy like you has going on._

Too much? Too soon? Paul’s knee bounced in uncertainty

_D. Dixon: I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours_

Paul blush deepened, laughing at his phone.

_Paul: That’s more of a third date kinda thing…_

_D. Dixon: I’m off Wed, Felix will be busy_

_Paul: Not working Weds either. I could bring food over Tuesday night?_

_Paul: I have a class Weds afternoon._

_D. Dixon: Cool. Talk Mon?_

_Paul: Monday. I gotta get back to this bitch of a res. paper._

_D. Dixon: Good luck with that!_

_Paul: Gee, thanks!_

Paul set his phone down and stretched against the back of his couch. Despite his valiant attempts to get his head back into working on his paper, he kept glancing at his phone, hoping Daryl would distract him again. A half hour of reading the same paragraph over and over, and he snapped his book shut in defeat. He neatly stacked his books on the coffee table and rose to rummage through the kitchen.

As he passed the front door, a piece of paper slipped under it caught his eye. His heart began to race and he nervously looked around the tiny apartment. Drapes were closed, dead bolt and two chains keep the door secure. Cautiously, he picked up the paper and opened it’s single fold. He didn’t even have to open it all the way to see the gory photograph of his beloved cat, beheaded.

With a sob, he crumpled the photograph and threw it. With shaky hands, he checked the locks on all his windows, and the chains on his door. He also checked the Glock he had loaded in his bedside table, making sure it was still there.

Peeking out his drapes to the street below his apartment, Paul quickly dialed a number he knew by heart. He didn’t wait for a greeting when the line picked up.

“Detective Grimes? He found me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to this fic since I finally finished Broken Arrow. More comments=more chapters!


	4. Felix' Apartment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A real date, with dinner and everything! Even a little Rick Grimes.

Monday dawned lazily, the morning light dulled by thick, somber clouds. The weather did nothing to improve Paul’s mood. Of course the residents at Lee Memorial would be extra difficult, instead of a mere annoyance. He went through his day without the usual smile and carefree attitude. When he finally got a chance to see Daryl at lunch, he was far away in his own head, preoccupied.

After Paul’s third visit to the dish room window, without so much as a smile, Daryl called him on it.

“Rovia!” Daryl called. Paul turned at the sound of his name, smiling at the other man as if the sun had just come from behind the clouds. “Someone piss in your Cheerios? What’s goin on man?”

“No, sorry – just, lots going on today.” Paul deflected, but he was thrilled to know Daryl could see something was wrong and cared enough to ask. He saw a look pass over Daryl’s face – he wasn’t buying it.

Daryl decided to leave it alone. “I hear ya. We still on for tomorrow night?” Daryl quirked a smile, tingling when Paul’s enormous blue eyes met his. “Felix has Toxic Avenger on VHS.”

Paul’s eyes got impossibly bigger. “That 80’s movie? Shit, that’s awesome!”

Daryl just smiled and silently thanked the lord that the dish room was already hot and steamy. The flush on his face couldn’t be helped. From Paul’s point of view, Daryl’s flushed, moist skin was quite alluring.

“You like Thai?” Paul crossed his arms, suddenly self-conscious, aware he had let his eyes roam.

“Hell yeah.” Daryl gave Paul an honest-to-goodness, full smile. “Find me before you leave? I’m working a double.” An aide set a tray down behind Paul with a clatter. She eyed them as she walked away, a knowing little grin splitting her face.

Paul nodded and walked away, knowing Daryl was watching. His day was marginally better after a smile from Daryl Dixon.

Later, when Daryl met Paul at the time clock, he found his friend smiling and laughing with the other nurses, much more himself. And if it meant he would get to see that shy smile and have the man all to himself the next day, Daryl didn’t mind the ribbing he got from his co-workers when they saw them together, making plans. 

*  
*  
*

Tuesday evening, Paul grabbed a case of beer and ordered Thai food, that he picked up close to Felix’s apartment. Hoping he was appropriately dressed for eating take-out and watching bad horror movies in a black t-shirt and jeans, he nervously maneuvered his ancient car into the back alley parking space Daryl swore belonged to Felix. He parked beside a car that looked familiar but shrugged it off as he entered a dubiously labeled door off the alley. 

The solid concrete walls were covered in graffiti, both artistic and crude. There appeared to be only one door and one set of stairs, which would lead to the apartments. In the hard florescent light of the narrow hall, Paul glanced at his phone to check that he wasn’t too early.

He climbed the stairs, hands full, stopping on the second floor. He was looking for the neon sign Daryl said was outside the door to the apartment, the large sliding door opening just as he noticed the sign. He stopped short as a familiar figure exited, walking backwards. Daryl Dixon followed the man out of the apartment and they said their goodbyes with a brotherly embrace. As the man turned to go, Daryl spotted Paul near the stairs.

Paul nearly dropped the beer, seeing who was leaving Daryl’s apartment.

“Rick? What the hell are you doing here?”

Detective Rick Grimes wore civilian clothing that leaned heavily toward the Texas sheriff look. His cowboy boots were well worn, and the leather coat he wore obscured the Colt in its holster and the solid muscle beneath the Levi’s and checked shirt. He gave Paul his crooked smile, looking back between the two very confused men.

“You two know each other?” Rick fiddled with his car keys, eyeing them both in turn.

“Yeah, we’re – we work together.” Daryl came out of the apartment.

“Wow. OK.” Rick chuckled softly. “I’m not gonna ruin your date… but you two need to talk, before Chinese food and beer turns into something else.” He moved to leave, slapping Paul on the shoulder in passing. His boots were loud on the metal stairs leading to the alley.

Not only was Paul silent in his confusion at seeing the familiar face of Rick Grimes in Daryl’s apartment, but when he entered it, his jaw actually dropped. Daryl took the food and beer out of his arms and let Paul look around for a moment.

It wasn’t exactly an apartment. It was an entire warehouse, half the second floor of the building, with a kitchen in one corner, a semi-private bedroom in another, a small stage on the other end, with a big screen TV in the center. Around the television sat several comfy-looking chairs, a side-walk special couch and a well-loved coffee table. Art, all manners, shapes, sizes and genres covered every surface, paint brushes of every size, clothing racks bearing every imaginable kind of clothing were haphazardly scattered throughout the studio.

“Welcome to Felix’s house of wonders!” Daryl joked. “Crazy, right? He’s an artist, a damned good one.”

“I see that!” Paul let Daryl take his leather jacket, wandering while his host brought plates and silverware to the coffee table. Daryl handed him an open beer and sat down on the couch. “So,” Paul said, sitting next to Daryl. “Crazy roommates aside, how do you know Rick Grimes?”

Daryl took a swig of his beer, tapping on the glass with a fingernail absentmindedly. He wasn’t sure where to start. “You dish up, I’ll talk.” He said finally. Paul dutifully sat up and started opening the take-out, ready to listen.

“I ain’t been out more than a couple years… I used to run with a biker gang in Senoia, mostly just following my druggie brother around. I’d sneak off to Atlanta, hook up with somebody from the internet, go to some gay bars. It sucked though.”

Paul handed Daryl a plate of food. “You couldn’t be yourself.” He expertly used his chopsticks to take a bite.

Daryl pointedly traded the chopsticks on his plate for a fork and took a few bites, nodding affirmatively. “Right. Merle got arrested on a long weekend, so he couldn’t have made bail til Tuesday… And I had been seeing someone, so I was up there when one of his friends comes looking for me.”

“You got caught.” Paul twisted noodles onto his chopsticks.

“Yeah. I didn’t know it, though. When they released my brother, he followed me back up to Atlanta a few weeks later. He and his buddies beat the shit outta Donnie.” Daryl stopped eating and gave a heavy sigh. “He was in a coma for a week before his sister turned off the machines.”

Paul put down his chopsticks and gave Daryl’s knee a little squeeze. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry you had to go through that.” Paul silently wondered if he should be worried.

“Not as sorry as my piece of shit brother. I testified against his sorry ass. He’s in prison because of me. I had to move, been layin low, hoping his friends don’t find me.”

“So that’s how you met Rick?” Paul set his empty plate on the coffee table, taking up his beer.

“Yeah. He worked the case when it happened. We became friends… His buddy Art introduced me to Felix.” Daryl stood and reached for Paul’s nearly empty beer. “Another?”

Paul handed him the bottle with a smile and filled their plates as Daryl retrieved two more bottles of beer. Daryl sat back down with his own smile.

“Aw, yeah! Man after my own heart!” Daryl picked up the plate of food not seeing the blush creeping over Paul’s cheeks. “What about you?” He said through a big bite of food.

“Stalker boyfriend.” Paul stated earnestly, as if it happened every day. He took another bite of noodles.

Daryl swallowed hard. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. We met in school, dated for a couple of years, but he was… he just wasn’t someone I saw myself with. I wanted to go to grad school in Baltimore, had a good job at Johns Hopkins. All of a sudden he thought I was seeing someone else, and just went off the rails.” Paul said sadly.

“How’s Rick figure into this?” Daryl watched Paul intently, seeing the shift in body language as he picked at an obvious open wound. As they spoke, they began to turn toward one another. Now they sat one knee underneath themselves the other on the floor, their knees touching. Daryl could feel the denim of Paul’s black jeans through the hole in the knee of his own pants. He was less conscious of having a hole in his clothes, and more tuned to the warmth he felt there.

“I broke up with him. It was… bad doesn’t even begin to touch what this was. He threatened suicide, showed up at the hospital looking for me, killed my cat.”

“Shit! That’s hardcore. Sorry, man.” Daryl watched as Paul finished his food slowly, deep in thought.

“The final straw was when he tried to start my apartment on fire. Rick was at the station when I went in to file a restraining order. Poor guy. I was a mess, and I thought he was gonna be this homophobic asshole, when he took me in his office.”

Daryl interrupted. “That ain’t Rick.”

“I know. He calmed me down, helped me navigate through everything. He even took me gun shopping.” Paul set his empty plate down next to Daryl’s.

“He took you to buy a gun?” While not surprised his friend would take someone to buy a gun, Daryl was impressed that Paul seemed to go along with it. Long-haired man with a nice ass and a gun? Please and thank you.

Paul tucked a few stray hairs behind his ear. “Yeah. Taught me to use it, made me go to the gun safety class."

Daryl looked up shyly. “That’s kinda hot.” His blush was evident and his voice low.

Paul’s blush was even deeper; he tried to hide it behind his beer. “Um thanks…”

“You should go hunting with me sometime.” Daryl gathered plates and empty boxes and took them into the kitchen. He needed to breathe. Not only were they getting into heavy shit territory, the presence of the other man was like a blanket- warm and comfortable, but he could see things moving to heavy and suffocating.

“I don’t kill things… unless they threaten me.” Paul chuckled at the thought of being in the woods with a gun. “I don’t think you hunt for dear with a Glock.”

“We could just go shoot. You still go to the range to practice, right?” Daryl set two shots on the coffee table, along with two fresh beers.

“Yeah… I should go more. Not very good. Can you teach me?” Paul’s eyebrow quirked in the cutest way.

“Yeah!” Daryl handed Paul one of the shots and raised it in a toast.

“You trying to get me drunk, Dixon?”

“Nah. Toxic Avenger’s just more fun when you’re buzzed.” Daryl shrugged. “To no more drama.”

“No more drama.” Paul repeated, bumping his shot glass against Daryl’s. Their eyes locked as they both drank. Paul fidgeted with his shot glass for a moment as Daryl set his down. “Um… I want to be honest with you, Daryl.” His tone was somber. “I was going to cancel tonight… My ex found me the other day, and I didn’t want to drag you into my shit, you know.”

Daryl gently took the shot glass out of Paul’s hand and set it aside. He took the other man’s smaller, smoother hands into his own. Paul could only watch Daryl’s calloused thumb rub against the back of his hand. “This punk shows up again, you can always come here, alright?” Paul just nodded appreciatively, unable to talk around the sudden lump in his throat. “Hey. Even if this… thing… between us doesn’t go anywhere, we’re still friends, right? You ain’t gotta deal with this alone. You got Rick, you got me. Whether or not you want him, you got Felix now too.” Daryl smiled. They were sat so close together, Daryl could feel stray wisps of Paul’s head against his forehead and feel the nervous heat flowing between them.

Paul gave a half-hearted laugh and looked up to see the most beautiful blue eyes watching him with quiet contemplation. He could see the confetti of blue flecks that made up the color of his eyes, and the smattering of tiny freckles along Daryl’s nose. “What is this thing, Daryl?”

“I don’t know…” Daryl rasped, leaning in, “But I’d like to find out.”


	5. Alex

Paul shouldered his backpack and made his way toward his apartment through the college campus. It was a gorgeous June evening, many students were outside, reading or talking. He had a little smile on his face, his footsteps light. Tomorrow began a long weekend he intended to spend with Daryl. If his new boyfriend’s texts were anything to go by, they might even (finally) have sex. The semester was over next week, and he didn’t plan on taking summer classes.

As he rounded the corner of the Medical Sciences building, he saw Alex. He would know the jean jacket and the dirty blond mop of hair anywhere. His stomach dropped, seeing his Ex asking someone for directions. They were pointing in the direction he had just come from. Paul quickly retraced his steps and entered the first building he came upon, standing back from the doorway to watch the courtyard. Sure enough, a moment later Alex came around the corner and walked toward the building Paul had just come from. He passed by without noticing Paul just inside the door.

Shaking, he took out his phone and texted Daryl.

_Paul: Just left class, Alex is on campus_

Daryl took a few long moments to respond. Paul took the opportunity to also text Rick.

_D. Dixon: Srsly? That fucker’s looking for you at school?_

_Paul: Yeah. He already knows which apartments mine._

_D. Dixon: Don’t go home, go over to my apartment. Felix is there. Text Rick_

_Paul: Already did. Heading to your place._

_D. Dixon: Be careful. Home soon. X_

Paul had to smile at the little affectionate things Daryl did, like always texting a kiss when he ended a conversation.

_Grimes: Dammit. That prick just wont quit, huh?_

_Paul: Going to Daryl’s, not going home._

_Grimes: I’ll go check over your apartment, make sure he hasn’t broken in._

_Paul: Thanks Rick. Is he in violation of the RO?_

_Grimes: Not yet. I’ll start the process for a bench warrant tho._

_Grimes: You might see Art tonight. I might have him stop by Daryl’s place. Be safe._

_Paul: Thank you!_

Paul stashed his phone in his pocket, where he fished out a hair tie. Instead of his usual bun atop his head, he opted for a simple pony tail, which he never did. Head low, he walked quickly to where his car was parked.

 

He dropped his keys twice trying to unlock the door to his VW, his hands were shaking so badly. Once inside the car, he gripped the steering wheel and took a few deep, cleansing breaths. He reminded himself that he was a well-trained martial artist, he knew how to defend himself, and people knew where he was. Alex couldn’t hurt him. He felt better, starting the car and putting it in gear… until he threw his arm over the back of the passenger seat and looked out the back window to reverse. A few feet behind his car stood Alex, looking slightly crazed. Paul had been seen. 

He quickly reversed only as far as he needed to turn the car toward the lot’s exit, putting the car into gear as quickly as possible, as Alex made a run for his car. He didn’t look back as he tore out of the lot and onto the city street.  
*

*

*  
The door to Felix’ apartment slid open before Paul could even knock. He was met with a sad looking Felix, wearing only a thick canvas apron, holding a cocktail.

“Come in, you poor thing!” Felix ushered Paul inside. “Daryl texted me, here, take this, sit down, get comfy, make yourself at home.”

Paul took the offered drink and let Felix usher him to the couch. 

“Let me put on something more comfortable for both of us!” Felix disappeared into the bedroom, tush bouncing under the strings of his apron, after hanging Paul’s bag up next to the door. _So domestic._ Paul noted absently.

Paul nursed the sickly sweet and ridiculously strong cocktail as he waited for Felix. Slowly, his shoulders came down from around his ears and his heart was beginning to slow.

Felix jumped onto the couch next to Paul, fully dressed, holding his own cocktail. “Speak.” Felix sat on the arm of the couch like a cat.

Paul frowned. “What do you want to know?” His face was pale, his smile long gone from his face.

Felix gave him a look… “Girl, start from the beginning!”  
*

*

*  
“Well, your boyfriend has some serious demons. I can’t imagine what kind of self-loathing, angry redneck he’d have turned out to be if his brother hadn’t been put away.” Felix twirled Paul’s hair up into a tidy bun, pinning it in place with colorful bobbypins. Paul just sat between the couch and the coffee table letting Felix braid his hair. There were hair products and styling tools strewn across the coffee table.

Daryl opened the door to the apartment, the noise of it causing Felix and Paul to startle. He found the pair sitting in front of the TV where Ren & Stimpy played. Daryl had a bag of food in one arm and his motorcycle helmet and a small Pelican case in the other. The scene on the couch gave him pause as he entered.

“Felix, get your own boyfriend!” Daryl barked. There was no real heat behind his words, and he was highly amused by the look Felix had accomplished.

“Hey – what took you so long?” Felix ignored Daryl’s comment and continued working on Paul’s hair. Paul gave a wan smile, unable to move his head much.

“Rick and I went over to your place, Paul. Got your gun, some extra rounds. Didn’t see your stalker.” Daryl leaned over and kissed the top of Paul’s head. “I also got food – gonna have a bite before the show.” He moved to the kitchen proceeded to put away groceries.

“Phil and the rest should be here to practice soon.” Felix said. Daryl plopped down next to him on the couch.

“You almost done?” Paul asked.

“Ugh… I’ve been done…. Just shining you up.” Felix threw the comb into the pile on the coffee table and huffed. “Go on. Canoodle or snuggle or whatever the hell you two do.” He stomped off in mock anger, arms crossed and pouting.

Paul eagerly joined Daryl on the couch, letting his boyfriend pull him in to a sweet kiss. Daryl held back the urge to check Paul over bodily, settling for tracing his thumb along frown lines instead.

“You ok?” Daryl had hardly relaxed until now, sitting next to his love, physical proof that he was unharmed.

“A little freaked out, but I’ll live.” Paul smiled, if only to put the other man more at ease.

“We’re goin back to your place after the show tonight… He ain’t gonna keep you from your own place. Tomorrow we’ll do some target practice.” Daryl said low against Paul’s ear, before kissing the soft skin just below it. 

Paul gave a small laugh, “Going back to my place has nothing to do with Felix’ party tonight?” Daryl sucked at the flesh where he could see Paul’s pulse fluttering under the skin. He was rewarded with a hard squeeze to his thigh and nearly imperceptible tremble that moved through the other man. “Nothing to do with being alone?” Paul turned his big blue eyes to Daryl’s, which were smoldering as he watched Paul absently lick his lips.

“It has everything to do with being alone with you.” Daryl replied before pulling Paul into a deeper kiss.

Paul had one hand appreciating the thick musculature of Daryl’s thigh, while the other fisted in his shirt. Daryl loved to have his hands in Paul’s hair, or lightly scratching at the other man’s beard whenever they kissed. Every moment they spent holding one another, Paul felt safer, protected. Daryl poured all the words he couldn’t say aloud into his kiss; he wanted Paul to know he was present, that he wanted to be there, always.  
*

*

*

The familial comradery of Daryl’s band, the laborious task of loading gear out of the loft and into the bar gave Paul the distraction he needed. By the time he, Felix and the band were doing one last shot before the show began, he was smiling and laughing again. Catcalls and cheers followed the whole-body, grinding kiss Daryl gave him before taking the stage. Even though he was a blushing mess, Paul felt a sense of calm, taking up his usual spot at the bar, where he could clearly see drum set.

He saw familiar faces, the bartenders knew what he liked and he nearly always drank for free. The band often teased him and Daryl from the stage, especially when he got roped into helping Felix, or being the merch bitch. Seeing the ex-boyfriend that had murdered his cat and attempted to set his home on fire left him on edge earlier. Tonight, though, he felt right. He felt at home. Anticipating a night alone with Daryl didn’t hurt either.

So when a familiar voice sounded in his ear against the music, Paul nearly jumped out of his skin. It was a voice he hadn’t heard since he’d been with Alex. “Can we talk outside?”

“Leave me the fuck alone, Gregory.” Paul yelled against the barrage of sound from the stage. Gregory, a balding man in his sixties, had been Alex’s lawyer. Next to Alex, he was the last person Paul wanted to see. Ever.

“Just a word, please?” Gregory tried to turn his sad eyes on Paul, who set his beer mug down with a heavy hand and flashed an angry glare before attempting to move down the bar. “Hey!” Gregory grabbed Paul’s wrist. In a flash, Paul had Gregory’s arm twisted behind his back.

“You tell Alex to leave me alone. I don’t want to see either of your faces again, understand?” Paul’s voice was low and dangerous as he pushed Gregory out of the bar. 

Patrons were just beginning to notice the commotion, the bartender shouting over, “Jesus, man, everything OK?” The band noticed the crowd turning toward the door. They kept playing, hoping it wasn’t anything that would completely turn the crowd’s attention. As the band finished the last song, however, Daryl caught sight of Felix running out of the bar, one of the bartenders hot on his heels. Dread spread through his body like melted butter and he jumped off the stage to follow.

A crowd of onlookers had gathered around Paul and Gregory, who’s face was covered in blood. He was on his knees in front of Paul, who was more angry than any of his friends had ever seen him. 

“Why can’t you both leave me alone? What the fuck, Gregory, this has to stop!” Paul was red in the face, screaming. He moved to kick Gregory in the face, but Daryl’s strong arms pulled him back from behind.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Calm down.” Daryl wrapped his arms around Paul and spoke directly into his ear. Felix began ushering gawkers away, leaving Gregory bleeding on the sidewalk. Daryl pulled Paul back into the bar, and once inside, Paul went limp. “What the hell happened?” Daryl asked as Paul turned around. Rage fell off Paul’s face like a mask, and in it’s place was complete exhaustion and defeat. Paul broke down just inside the door of Bertie’s bar, Felix rubbing circles on his back as Daryl held him.  
*

*

*

Paul was warm, content, exhausted… and had the weight of another man draped over half of his body. He smiled and sighed, nuzzling further against Daryl’s shoulder. Daryl hummed, and Paul could feel his smile against the crown of his own head. Satiated, overwhelmed, and comfortable… Paul attempted to let sleep drag him under.

Sharp, heavy pounding on the front door had Daryl sitting up in an instant. If Paul wasn’t absolutely terrified, he’d have smiled at his companion’s sleep tousled hair and tired, one-eyed squint.

“What the hell? What time is it?” Daryl rubbed at his eyes like a child.

Paul sat up and looked at his clock. “4:45.”

“Who in the fuck –“ Daryl’s grumbling was interrupted by even hard pounding on at the door.

“Paul! One way or another, you’re gonna talk to me!” The voice on the other side of the door made Paul’s eyes go wide.

Daryl grabbed his jeans from the floor and pulled them on, moving toward the bedroom door in one fluid movement. “Fuck this – I’m done with this asshole.”

“Daryl, don’t!” Paul called after him.

“Scare this sumbitch.” Paul could hear Daryl opening the Pelican case on the kitchen table and the click of a clip being locked into the weapon. He slowly made his way to the door and looked out, to see the distorted image of Paul’s ex-boyfriend on the other side. Making a little sound as possible, Daryl unlocked the door. He waited until Alex began pounding on the door again, and yanked it open, gaining the upper hand.

Gun under his chin, other arm bracing all his weight on Alex’s chest, Daryl backed him up against the wall of the hallway. “Just what the fuck do you think you’re doin’, poundin down my door at 5-fucking-am?”

Alex’s eyes were wide and he instinctively put his hands up. “Paul- -I, I’m looking for Paul.”

“I got a feelin this Paul guy don’t want you wakin up the entire fuckin campus.”

“I just wanna talk to him, man. I just want to see him…” Alex’s voice faltered as he took in the man holding him at gunpoint. From the feral glare in Daryl’s eyes to the taut biceps and well-defined pecs that flowed into rigid abs that disappeared into Daryl's open fly. Alex was sizing him up, deciding how strong this wall of muscle was, standing between him and the open door to Paul's apartment. 

Know he was being assessed, Daryl spun the other man around, pressing his face into the wallpaper, arm twisted behind him. It would be much harder for Alex to make a move from this position. “You ever knock on this door again, step into this building… you ever drive by this college again, I will paint this pretty wallpaper with your grey matter, understand?” Daryl's voice was in his ear, low and dangerous.

Alex attempted to nod against the wall. “Yeah! Yeah… I got it!” Daryl shoved the lanky man toward the stairs where he nearly fell ass over teakettle. He looked back once to see Daryl watching him leave, gun still in hand, and bolted out the door.

Daryl returned to Paul’s apartment, closing and locking the door. He put the gun away and looked out the window to see Alex driving away, for good measure. The sun was barely starting to peek over the horizon. Going back to Paul’s bed, he lay down on his back and threw an arm over his eyes as Paul watched, still sitting in bed, naked.

“That was... fuckin hot.” Paul said, looking over his lover laid out on his own bed. 

Daryl chuckled as he rolled over to kiss Paul “Yeah? Mean redneck turn you on?” 

“Oh yeah… Mmmhmmm….” Paul smiled into the kiss, letting Daryl settle between his thighs. He wrapped his legs around slim hips and began working Daryl’s jeans off with his feet.

“Gonna have to do something about that, huh?” Daryl met his partner's lust-heavy eyes and leaned over pulling a soft pink nipple into his mouth as he pressed his erection down into Paul’s.

Paul gasped and rocked up into Daryl, who barely contained a thick moan. “Yeah… lets do something about that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Felix and Paul's Cocktail:
> 
>  
> 
> Barking Spider  
> 1 1/2 oz Tarantula Azul Tequila  
> 1 1/2 oz Blue Curacao liqueur  
> 3/4 oz Bacardi® 151 rum  
> 1 dash triple sec  
> 1 dash sweet and sour mix  
> 1 splash orange juice  
> Serve over ice in a collins glass, or blend for a frozen version of this drink.
> 
>  
> 
> Drink up. The apocalypse is coming!


	6. Cupid's Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They fall in love... and the world begins to fall apart.

Daryl watched with interest as Paul pulled his hair up into a messy bun and yanked the ear protectors over his head. They were very close, tucked into one stall at the indoor gun range. Daryl tried to distract himself by checking their weapons… again. 

“You’re not going to be able to make yourself pretty, someone starts shooting at you.”

Paul finished with his hair and grinned. “If I can gain the muscle memory, it won’t matter.” He loved catching Daryl watching him. “You said I’m pretty.”

Daryl just rolled his eyes, but his partner knew him too well. The blush creeping up his neck was a dead giveaway to how affected he was by Paul’s proximity. “OK, let’s see what Rick taught you. Fire off a few rounds.”

Paul squared his shoulders and took a few cleansing breaths… which annoyed Daryl immensely. He picked up his gun, quickly checked the clip, reinserted it and flicked off the safety. He deftly lined up his shot, gun in both hands. He fired off three rounds.

“Seriously?” Daryl asked, eyebrows raised. He hit the button to bring the target forward. The center of the target was completely obliterated. “I thought you said you needed practice.”

Paul shrugged, “Haven’t been here in months.”

Daryl reset the target and handed Paul his Sig Sauer. “Try mine. Heavier, more recoil.”

Paul put the safety on his own weapon and set it down, taking Daryl’s and flicking off the safety.

Paul fired off seven rounds. He put the safety back on and set the weapon next to his. Daryl was shooting daggers at him from his eyes as he brought the target forward. Paul had shot a happy face into the target. “Show off.” He couldn’t help but let a grin slide across his face at Paul’s satisfied look.

Daryl reset the target. “One handed?”

Paul quirked an eyebrow. “What’d you mean?”

Daryl slid around Paul, standing very close, sliding his hands down Paul’s arms. He brought Paul’s arms up into position like he had held them before. “You’re a good shot. When you shoot like a cop. You won’t always be able to get into position and line up your shot.” His voice was directly in Paul’s ear, and he felt the tremble move through him as he nuzzled into his neck. “So, what if you’re…” Daryl took Paul’s left hand off the gun and brought it to Paul’s fly, lacing their fingers together to palm him through his jeans. “…grabbin yer junk, pullin up your pants or something….”

Paul took in a shuddering breath and repositioned himself slightly, trying not to let Daryl affect him. He fired off three rounds. “Shit.” He mumbled. While the shots hit center mass, they were distinctly less focused than his previous rounds.

Daryl chuckled. “Not bad… The other thing you want to remember is that whoever you’re shootin at, is probably gonna be shooting back. You wanna make yourself as hard to hit as possible. Smaller target. So turn –“ Daryl moved his hand from Paul’s and yanked him back against himself, taking a step back. “Aim with your dominant hand.” Daryl held Paul’s wrist in his hand, supporting the unfamiliar weight of the gun. He laced the fingers of his other hand in Paul’s and rested them against his lower abdomen. Daryl kissed Paul’s neck, but moved away when Paul turned to kiss him. “Focus.”

Paul stood a little straighter, causing his body to be flush against Daryl’s. He took aim and fired off three more rounds. His shots were even more scattered.

“Not fair. You are too damned distracting!” Paul moved away to bring the target forward. 

“You’re not gonna be shootin at a target when someone attacks you. You’ll be distracted, scared, adrenaline will mess up all your senses.” Paul leaned in as Daryl explained.

An angry voice a few cubicles down interrupted their flirting. “Fuckin faggots. Limp wristed pussies probably can’t even hold up a gun…”

Daryl didn’t even hesitate, even when Paul grabbed him to hold him back. “What the hell did you just say?” Daryl stalked quickly down the row. “You really gonna say that shit while I’m holding a loaded gun?”

The man in the far cubicle was clearly not expecting a six-foot-something man in a leather jacket, with arms his own boyfriend couldn’t wrap his hand around. Daryl could be frightening when he wanted to be, especially when holding a loaded gun. The man was an average Joe, weekend warrior type, wearing gym clothes.

“Whoa, take it easy soldier!” He raised his hands up in a surrendering posture. He was equal parts amused and scared, which made Daryl even angrier.

“You better watch who you’re talkin to sunshine.” Daryl backed the stranger up against the wall.

Paul grabbed Daryl’s arm with both hands and attempted to pull him away. “Daryl, he’s not worth it. C’mon.”

“Just cause we’re gay don’t mean either of us couldn’t kick your ass, gun or no gun.” Daryl shouted in the man’s face. 

“OK… Got it. Got it.” The stranger held still, understanding he had made a huge mistake, finally, truly scared.

“Don’t bother with the trash, baby. Someone else will take it out eventually.” Daryl let Paul pull him away, dragging him by the arm.

Back in their own cubicle, Daryl finally met Paul’s eyes. To his surprise, they were full of affection. “Take out the trash? Really?” Daryl asked, voice low. Paul just smiled and let his boyfriend pull him in to a kiss.  
*

*

*  
D: Hey babe, I know you’re probably still in class. Give me a call when you get a chance.  
P: Got out of class early, in the library for a bit. Whats up?  
D: Nothing.  
D: Miss you.  
P: I know something’s wrong.  
D: Not really. Got a call from Art. Brother got his ass beat. Moved him to the hospital ward.  
P: Shit. He ok?  
P: You ok?  
D: Yeah. He’ll live. I’m the reason he’s there tho.  
P: You are not. Your brother put himself in there.  
D: Want to grab some food?  
P: Sure. On my way to the dojo. Meet me there around 6?  
D: Yeah. Ok.  
P: Sooner? I’ll be there in 10. Just come whenever.  
D: OK  
D: X  
*  
*  
*  
Daryl knew Paul was a skilled martial artist, but he had never witnessed the man in action before. He leaned against the wall opposite the window looking in on the dojo, watching Paul Rovia spar with a much larger opponent. Daryl’s first instinct was to intervene, to say it wasn’t a fair fight. Before he could even open the door, Paul had his opponent subdued. Daryl stepped back to watch, then. He couldn’t hear the conversation, but he could see the sweat plastering tendrils of hair onto Paul’s neck, and the heat in his cheeks beneath his beard. Watching Paul was like watching ballet: his movements perfectly timed, feet and legs and hips positioned just so… It was mesmerizing. Beneath the baggy Gi, Paul’s musculature was hidden from view, but the power beneath every punch and kick was clear – Paul was deadly if he wanted to be. He would demonstrate a move on his opponent step-by-step, in slow motion, explaining, and then would execute it in swift precision with confidence. Daryl was drawn closer to the glass with every movement, until Paul saw him staring through the glass. His smile was like the sun coming through the clouds; Daryl could only blush at being caught staring.

Paul quickly changed and locked up the dojo, feeling Daryl’s impatient eyes on him. Before he was fully turned to walk to the parking lot, Daryl’s mouth was on his, body pressing him between the glass and large, wandering hands. Hungry kisses gave way to possessive nips under Paul’s ear, on his neck, his shoulder. 

Paul was not shy about letting Daryl hear the effect his lips and hands were having, and when Daryl murmured, “Watching you… so fucking hot…” into his ear, he wasted no time in dragging him to the parking lot, where Daryl’s motorcycle sat waiting.  
*  
*  
*

The roar of Felix’ apartment door sliding open had Daryl jumping off Paul in a flash. They were both shirtless, on the couch, Felix’ stereo playing loud. Felix rushed in, ignoring his roommate and grabbing the TV remote.

“What the hell, Felix!” Daryl grabbed his shirt from the floor and yanked it on, annoyed. Paul reached for the stereo remote and turned it down, Felix nearly sitting on top of him.

“Shhhh! You gotta see this!” Felix flicked through the channels until he found CNN.

Paul sat up so he could see the TV, Daryl leaned on the arm rest, arms crossed.

“Look, look, look! It’s insanity!” Felix was riveted to the television.

_”…in Argentina this afternoon, mass hysteria has ensued after a storage facility leased by the World Health Organization exploded, releasing what appears to be some sort of gas, or airborne material. Several dozen workers are feared dead after the explosion and subsequent fire. Strangely, people all over Buenos Aires are flooding hospitals with high fevers and rabies-like behaviors….”_

“This is what you interrupted us for?” Daryl grumbled. The footage of looters, sick people lining up at hospitals, the remains of flaming, destroyed buildings played intermittently, between views of the reporters speaking into the camera. Pale faced, disheveled reporters hoping what they were reporting was incorrect, seeing that it wasn’t.

Felix dismissed Daryl with a wave of his hand. “Hang on… the best bit’s coming up.”

_“… and in Japan, several hundred people are being quarantined in a hotel in Tokyo after being attacked by, what some are saying, wedding guests…. Families of those being held are saying guests of a wedding at the facility began attacking other hotel patrons overnight….”_

_”…in the US, video of a man being shot by police in Alameda is going viral on social media; the suspect took 5 shots to the abdomen, stood up and attempted to attack police. The suspect was killed by law enforcement, when shot in the head at close range….”_

Felix jumped up, gesturing wildly to the TV. “It’s the end times! Look at it!”

“PFFT!” Daryl scoffed and stalked into the kitchen. “Whatever man. You really believe that shit?”

Felix’ jaw hung open in stunned defiance. “Um… Chupacabra?” Felix gave Daryl his best exasperated, questioning look.

“OK. It’s the zombie apocalypse then. What are we gonna do about it?” Daryl handed beers to Paul and Felix and flopped down on the couch next to his boyfriend. Paul’s eyes were glued to the television.  
*  
*  
*  
Hours later, after the band came, practiced and went, as Felix painted in the larger part of the apartment, a very restless Paul Rovia watched Daryl sleep. They had crashed in Felix’s bed to keep out of his way, but Paul couldn’t get the images on the television out of his mind. His boyfriend had also been tetchy, short-fused all night, but he blew it off as anxiety about his brother. Paul gently pushed a few errant strands of hair out of Daryl’s face, letting his hand trail down to the scruffy goatee. A light brush of fingers along clavicle, down to sparse chest hair that grew thicker the further down it went. Paul pressed the palm of his hand flat against Daryl’s sternum, to feel the steady beat of his heart. Daryl’s body relaxed, face smushed against the pillow… Paul could see what Daryl must have looked liked as a child. Fingers found the raised flesh of scars that wrapped around the well-muscled torso, and Paul swallowed the lump forming in his throat. He had never asked about the scars, but Felix had filled him in over the past few months; they mattered very little day-to-day, but they colored image of the man Daryl had become. His marred flesh didn’t blur who he was, instead, to Paul, they made the rest of him shine brighter. Despite the beatings he must have endured, despite the poverty he must have lived, despite the culture of hate he was born into, Daryl was a sweet, loving and generous man. _Or because of those things…_ Paul considered as he traced the tattoo over Daryl’s heart. Daryl stirred in his sleep. Not wanting to wake him with his restlessness, Paul placed a gentle kiss to his partner’s forehead and slid out of bed.

In the living room, Felix was on a tall ladder, working on an enormous canvas, wearing only his apron, as per usual. He gave a friendly wave when he noticed Paul pacing the apartment, but otherwise appeared to be focused on his work.

Paul wandered over to where the band’s instruments were set up, left after they had practiced. He had earned the privilege of staying while they played, and often helped Felix with his accompanying art. He hadn’t volunteered his own musical talents to the group yet, still feeling too new in his relationship with Daryl.

With some hesitation he picked up one of the acoustic guitars, turning on the amplifier it was plugged into. He didn’t realize the mic was also plugged in as well. He also didn’t realize how closely Felix was watching him. He hummed a few bars of a song, quietly tuning and strumming the guitar, almost absentmindedly. As words started to form on his lips and his fingers found a tune, Felix crept down the ladder and quietly powered up his computer, that acted as a sound board. Thankfully Paul’s back was to Felix and he had no idea he was being recorded. 

With some confidence and to Felix’s delight, Paul began to sing. Several false starts and a few swear words, and Paul began to play in earnest. Felix watched in awe as Paul played, hoping he could capture an entire song.

“Hello… I’ve waited here for you…, Everlong… shit.” Paul cleared his throat and restarted, sitting down on a stool and getting comfortable.

_“Hello, I’ve waited here for you… Everlong. Tonight, I throw myself into… and out of the red, out of his head, he sang…”_ As he played, Paul became more confident, only blushing when Felix moved to sit on the drum riser and listen, where Paul could see him. _“Come down, and waste away with me…. Down with me… Slow how you wanted it to be, and over my head, out of his head, he sang…”_

Paul played through and finished the song, Felix rising to applaud.

“My goodness, where have you been hiding this talent? That was beautiful! Daryl never told me you could sing!” Felix praised.

Paul shrugged and blushed, tuning the guitar. “I’ve never sung for him before. Haven’t played in, God, a long time.” He looked wistful.

“Well, we’ll have to remedy that!” Felix crossed his arms.

“Can you sing?” Paul challenged Felix.

It was Felix’s turn to blush. “I know a few songs… from karaoke mostly.”

“You know Almost Paradise?” Paul smirked, he knew the song was a karaoke staple.

Felix gave his best exasperated look. “Am I gay?”

Paul absently started strumming. “Ready?”

With a flourish, Felix moved the mic stand so they could sing together.

Paul began, _“I thought that dreams belonged to other men, cuz each time I got close, they'd fall apart again…”_ and Felix joined in, _“I feel my heart a-beating in secrecy… I face the nights alone.”_

The men smiled at one another and sang together, _“Oh how could I have known? In all my life I only needed you…”_

As they sang together, Felix did his best to hide noticing Daryl waking and coming out from the bedroom, standing back to listen to his friend and his boyfriend, admiring the strong arms playing along on the guitar. As the song ended, Daryl let out a comical laugh. “What a couple of queers.”

Felix chuckled, “Only for you sweetie.”

Paul hopped off the stool with a start and turned to see his boyfriend smiling at him, eyes sparkling. Felix just watched them, smiling. “Sorry – didn’t mean to wake you.” Paul started to put the guitar down.

“Nah.” Daryl glanced at the computer as he made his way across the room. “What else do you know?” He slipped around Paul and sat down at his drum set.

Paul looked over at Felix. He was out of his element and nervous. Daryl picked up a pair of drumsticks and started settling in. Felix gestured to the stool, inviting Paul to continue playing. With some hesitation, Paul sat.

“Um, that new song you were working on tonight… Eagle Eye Cherry?” Paul answered.

“Cool. Whenever you’re ready.” Daryl flashed a toothy grin at his boyfriend. Paul strummed a few notes, tuned the guitar apprehensively, and then began to play in earnest, looking right into Daryl’s eyes.

__

_“I’m so tired… of falling in love_  
_Finding it easier to fall out_  
_I can’t deny it, I feel it inside_  
_Cupid’s fire, oh you can’t hide._  
_I'm falling in love again_  
_ain't nothing I can do_  
_Falling in love again_  
_And this time its with you_  
_When I fall_  
_Its always the same_  
_And I'm so tired of playing this game”_  
With a smile and a flourish, Daryl came in on the drums, and joined in singing on the chorus. Felix snuck back to the computer and made sure it was still recording. Paul faked his way through the solo, and when it ended, Daryl rushed over to pull him into an intense hug. Felix stopped recording and lopped over like a puppy to get in on the love, still wearing only his apron.

They were interrupted by Felix’s phone ringing next to the computer. It was very late, and the trio gave each other worried looks as Felix answered. Paul and Daryl followed and watched Felix as he spoke on the phone, seeing him turn pale. Hanging up the phone, he looked grave.

“Felix, man, what’s goin on?” Daryl reached up and squeezed Felix’s arm.

“That was Art.” He said, eyes wet. “Rick’s been shot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The songs they play are:
> 
> Everlong - Foo Fighters  
> Almost Paradise - Ann Wilson & Mike Reno  
> Falling In Love Again - Eagle Eye Cherry
> 
> Comments and love are always welcome!


	7. Mama, just killed a man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SHTF.

It was if Rick Grimes being shot was the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back, ushering in the end of civilization. Exhausted, physically and emotionally, Daryl and Paul crashed hard in Felix’s bed after visiting their friend. Det. Grimes was in a medically induced coma, after getting caught off guard by a car jacking suspect he was unaware of. The call came in that there were two suspects in the vehicle, a mistake that might end up costing him his life. The entire precinct was standing vigil in the hospital halls, and the pair only had a few moments to offer Rick and his wife their strength.

Before slipping off into sleep, Paul’s phone rang, jolting Daryl awake with a groan. Upon hearing the other person on the line, Paul sat up, fully awake.

“Hang on! Daryl, listen.” Paul set the phone on the bed and turned on the speaker. “Say that again Deanna.”

“State came in the day after you guys took your vacation. I don’t know what to tell you. We had five deaths in 3 days. They’re going to be relocating all the residents.” Deanna sounded tearful over the phone.

“So, they’re shutting us down? On what grounds?” Paul asked. Daryl listened with a scowl on his face, head resting on Paul’s thigh.

“We’re not the only ones! Crestview, St. Anthony, Eldercare… all of them have had this happening. I’m just calling everyone to let them know not to come for their next shift. I just found this out at change of shift on overnights.”

“What about getting paid?” Daryl grumbled.

“Good question. I haven’t heard. I’ve just been working to get everything prepared to ship all the residents out. If I hear anything, I’ll call you.”

Paul sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face, his exhaustion crashing in on him once more. “Thanks Deanna. And hey, be careful. Shit’s been…. Weird.”

Deanna sighed over the line as well, worry evident in her voice. “You too… Stay safe fellas.”

Paul flopped back down into the pillows, and pulled Daryl into himself. “We’ll figure this out in the morning.” Daryl rasped against his collarbone.

“Yeah…” Paul snuggled down into the warmth of Daryl’s arms, too tired to think too hard on any one of the million things running through his mind. He fell asleep, vaguely wondering where Felix was.

Neither Paul nor Daryl ever saw Felix again.

*  
*  
*  
Paul watched Daryl putter around the kitchen, making coffee and toast, as he dressed the next morning. He watched his boyfriend tinker with Felix’s computer and turn on the stereo, fingers thrumming to the beat of music. Bright sunlight filtered through the kitchen window, where Daryl set out their coffee and buttered their toast. Seeing Daryl measure out creamer just the way Paul liked it put a smile on his face. He loved the easy way they moved around each other now, the newness of their relationship turning into fond appreciation for the little quirks they were learning to love (and tolerate) about each other.

As Paul sat on the bed to pull on his boots, he heard Daryl laugh.

“Felix, that little shit.” Daryl plugged his phone into the computer. “He recorded us last night.”

Paul came out of the bedroom, hiding his face in his hands, groaning. “Oh no…. Erase it!” 

Daryl grabbed Paul around the waist. “No way! You have a beautiful voice! Mhmm… the things you do with that mouth…” He claimed that mouth, both of them smiling through the kiss.

“The sooner I get over to my place, the sooner I’ll be back.” Paul attempted to break free of the embrace.

“No pussyfootin’ around, alright. I don’t like all the shit’s been goin down lately.” Daryl reluctantly let Paul leave the circle of his embrace and handed the man his coffee. They sat in the kitchen eating their breakfast in companionable silence, enjoying being together, alone.  
Through the window, the glint off something in the street caused Daryl to look out. “Holy shit. That’s my brother!” Daryl was leaning his head against the screen, trying to get a look out onto the street.

“What?” Paul bounded around the kitchen island with a frown. Surely Daryl’s brother wasn’t out of prison? A balding, severe-looking older man parked a chopper on the street below.

“How the hell did he find me?” Daryl turned away from the window, his face pale.

Paul tried to put a reassuring hand on his boyfriend, but Daryl started to pace nervously. “I’m gonna call Art, see if he knows anything.” Paul pulled out his phone and began to dial. Instead of hearing Art’s calm voice on the other line, he heard a shrill recording: _“All circuits are busy. Please try your call again later.”_

He shook his head in frustration. “Phone’s out for some reason.” 

Daryl was clearly shaken. “We have to get you out of here. He killed Donnie. He _killed_ Donnie! If he finds you here…”

“I’ll hide in the bedroom – “

“No – fuck!” Daryl was near panic. “I don’t want to risk it.”

Paul looked out the window himself. “How is he out?”

“Don’t know…”

“If shit’s gonna go down,” Paul said, putting the case for his gun on the table, “you need to be armed.”

“Nah. For all we know Merle’s goons are hanging around too. We both need to be armed.” Daryl started loading the clip for Paul’s gun, as Paul unpacked Daryl’s gun. They loaded them and traded the firearms back to each other, both quiet and grim.

Paul grabbed Daryl by the shoulders, “C’mere. You think you can handle talking to him?” Daryl nodded, humming in the affirmative. “OK. I’ll go home and change and figure out what’s going on with work. But I’ll be back in two hours, OK? Don’t. Leave. I’ll text Art and see if he knows what the hell is happening. I don’t want to leave you alone with him.” Daryl nodded before pulling Paul into a hard kiss.

Daryl held Paul’s face in his hands, suddenly terrified of watching him leave. But Paul moved the kiss into something less urgent, more loving. They were both able to smile as they came apart.

“Be careful.” Daryl said, looking deep into Paul’s eyes.

Paul tried to impart strength and love through his gaze, whispering, “You too.” He left without looking back, not wanting to see Daryl beginning to panic again.  
*

*

*  
The streets of Athens, Georgia were like a ghost town. Half of the streetlights Paul drove through were blinking yellow, there were no busses running, and he only saw three other cars on his twenty minute drive to campus. What should have been a bustling, busy day at the University of Georgia was instead nearly silent, despite the cloudless sky and perfect late spring air. Paul parked and cautiously went around to the front of his building, where he was greeted with a garish yellow notice taped to the glass door.  
_University of Georgia is experiencing a student health crisis. Classes cancelled until further notice Healthy individuals should remain at home or in their dormatories._ Paul thought it curious that the notice said nothing about the sick.

He neglected his mailbox and hurried up to his apartment, phone in hand, trying in vain to call Art. Even the 911 system gave him the same recording. All lines were busy. Try again later. As he took the last flight of stairs, he tried Felix’s number. To his surprise, he heard Felix’s voice on the line. _It’s your favorite boi, Felix, leave a message!”_

“Thank god! Felix, it’s Paul. Don’t go to your place. Merle showed up and Daryl is freaking out. He made me leave, and I can’t get ahold of Art or 911 or anyone. Call me when you get this.” He hung up as he reached his door. Dread spread through him, seeing his apartment door slightly ajar. Part of him, most of him, wanted to run and not look back. The weight of the gun on his hip gave him courage, though, and he slipped his phone into his pocket. 

He inched toward his door, pulling out his gun and clicking off the safety. He tried to see into the apartment, but the door opened into a small entryway that didn’t allow much to be seen. He nudged the door open further with his foot. Feeling slightly silly, he whipped his body through the door, gun held high, like he had seen in movies. The door hit the wall of the entryway with a bang, and before he could react, a figure shot out from the kitchen and grabbed for Paul’s gun.

Paul’s assailant was tall and strong. He tried to sweep the man’s leg’s out from underneath him, but it was as if the person trying to take his gun knew his next move. Flipping the man was impossible without using his arms for leverage and having been slammed against the wall, Paul would have to drop the weapon to do it. The attacker reared his head back into Paul’s face hard, pain blossoming from the bridge of his nose, eyesight blurry. He could taste warm blood on his mouth. While the other man believed he had the upper hand, Paul managed to get a leg around one of his attacker’s legs, lifting so that they both dropped backward. Paul’s elbow shoved his full body weight into the man as they both hit the ground, hands twisting as they groped for the gun and Paul felt rather than heard the gun go off.

Adrenaline fueling him, Paul pushed himself up and off the man in one fluid movement, eyes wide with fear, still clutching the gun. In the threshold of his apartment was Alex, eyes unseeing as he lay dead in an ever-growing pool of his own blood. 

“Alex? Alex…” Paul’s first instinct was to reach for the man that he had once been in love with. But he stayed his hand, the sheer volume of blood and the gaping hole in the man’s chest proof enough that Paul could not help him. The light had gone from his eyes; Paul had worked with enough hospice patients and knew the man was gone. He had killed a person. That alone shook his bones. This was someone he had loved once. He had laughed with this man, made love to this man, now turning cold on the floor of his apartment. All of the air left his lungs and he could barely stand, slumping against the wall. “God damn it Alex.” Overcome with grief and anger, Paul’s body was wracked with sobs. He pulled his knees to his chest, clutching the gun as he tucked his hands between his thighs and wept, waiting. He wanted to be able to give the police Art’s name or Rick’s name, explain the situation. 

Angry, horrified tears gave way to shuddering breaths as he sat there for an eternity… or mere moments, he couldn’t tell. No neighbors passed by to investigate. No sirens were heard coming closer. The gorgeous day flittered by outside the window, as if the world wasn’t tilted wrong on it’s axis.

Paul nearly jumped out of his skin when his phone rang, vibrating in his pocket. He fumbled for it, relief warming his veins when he saw it was Daryl.

“They let them out. The prison. They just let them out.” Daryl didn’t even let Paul say hello.

“Daryl… I shot Alex.” Paul’s voice broke as he said it aloud.

“What? You – you shot him?”

“He’s dead, in my apartment. Oh God, what do I do, Daryl?”

“Oh, babe….” Daryl sighed. “Just get your stuff and come back here. Shit’s got real bad real quick. Merle found the infirmary unlocked and just walked right out. He’s high as a fuckin kite, says he wants to go to Lee and empty out the food n shit.”

“Okay.” Paul rose to his feet. “Shouldn’t I wait for the police?” He walked the few steps to his living room window and looked outside. No sirens, no commotion, no cars except his own in the lot.

“I don’t think they’re comin. Keep your gun with you, grab some clothes, your camping stuff and meet me back here. Hey!” Daryl’s voice cut out abruptly.

Merle’s voice was syrupy sweet, and Paul could only wince. “This Darlina’s boyfriend? He tell you about me? Bet this little pussy neglected to mention his big brother to his butt-buddy, now, didn’t he?” Paul turned his head away from the phone, Merle’s voice an unpleasant grating in his ear.

In the entryway, Alex’s foot twitched. His fingers closed into fists, and then relaxed. Paul didn’t immediately find the movement of a corpse to be all that startling. Residual energy and gasses from decaying tissue could spark movement in the body of the deceased until rigor set in. Paul stood though, gripping his gun tighter as he did so; he was standing between Merle’s gag-inducing tirade and the dead body of his ex-boyfriend… his stomach churned.

The sound of fumbling, staticky and grating, wafted through the phone, Daryl reclaiming it from his brother. “Paul you still there?”

“I’m here.”  
“Fuck Merle. We’ll figure this out. You still have the tent, right?” Daryl asked, but Paul wasn’t listening.

Alex, eyes clouded over, chest a ruined mass of flesh and gristle, was sitting up in the threshold of his apartment.

“Daryl?” Paul squeaked. Alex turned to face Paul, a low, guttural moan issuing from his dead mouth. “Daryl?” Paul repeated, high and panicked.

Daryl’s frown could be heard over the phone, if Paul had been listening. “You OK?”

“Alex… he’s – he’s…” Paul attempted to explain what he was seeing as Alex’s pale corpse began to stand. Horror, grief and pure, undiluted fear gripped Paul’s body. He could hear Daryl calling his name on over the phone, but it was distant – miles and miles away. In front of him, the body of a man he had laughed with, kissed, made love to, cried with, fought with… the dead body of someone who had been his nightmare when he was alive… was now walking straight toward him, arms outstretched. He hadn’t noticed how badly he was trembling until the phone fell from his hand. “Alex?” His mouth felt as if it were filled with sand.

Alex had shuffled close enough to Paul that he would be able to feel the warmth of his breath and body, had he been alive. The coppery stench was overwhelming, mixed with the scent of a post-mortem bowel movement. Wretching, Paul pushed Alex away, hard. Recovering from a deep, visceral gag reflex, Paul pushed Alex away again, after the dead man regained his balance and reached for him. Alex, what was left of him, kept coming, and each time Paul pushed him away, a fresh wave of nausea and fear pulsed through him. By the fourth time, he was a sobbing, gagging mess. “Please… Alex. Stop.” He high-kicked the corpse in the face, sending it toppling over, back into the slick pool of blood and flesh it had risen from.

“PAUL. WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?” Daryl’s voice bellowed from the phone on the floor as Alex, unfazed, began to stand once again, ever eager to put his hands on Paul.

“No!” To Paul’s horror, the body stood and reached for him again, with a snarl, foamy, bloody jaws snapping. “No, no, no, no, no.” Alex lunged for him, and Paul raised his gun, shouting, “NO!”

Paul emptied his clip into Alex’s face, which disintegrated in a bloody spray of bone and grey matter. He squeezed the trigger, sobbing, until all he could hear was the click of the empty gun in his hand. His legs gave out then and he collapsed where he stood, devastated. On his knees, Paul shook violently, crying, curling in on himself, long minutes passed before he could draw a full breath. 

When he was finally able to think, he searched for his phone, to find Daryl was no longer on the line. With a trembling hand, he dialed Daryl’s number, hearing the same recording he had heard when he had tried to call Art and Felix: all circuits were busy. He tried again and again until his phone alerted him that he only had 20% battery left.

With all the haste of a man alone in a room with the corpse of an ex-lover, Paul rushed through his apartment, shoving things into his backpack. The urge to get back to Daryl was overpowering. Try as he might, he couldn’t focus. He couldn’t calm himself. Granola bars, a couple bottles of water, his hiking gear, knives and extra clip for his gun went in the bag next to a change of clothes. Another change of clothes, one for cooler weather, his phone charger, notebook and the entire contents of his pen cup went in to the bag as well. A small photo album from his nightstand and a bracelet off his dresser were the last items he grabbed as he left the apartment, skirting the shiny lake of blood in front of the door.

He didn’t look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merle being homophobic Merle, and canon-typical grossness.


	8. Notes to a Lover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul sets out to find Daryl.

Felix’s apartment was silent and cold when Paul finally got back. It was obvious that Daryl had hastily packed his personal things and left in a hurry. Rather than the cozy, welcoming air the apartment usually held, it felt cold and sad. Paul wandered around the place, picking up anything belonging to Daryl or himself and stuffing it into his backpack. There wasn’t a lot that had been left behind.

Heart feeling heavy, he trailed his fingers over the guitar he had just played, singing along with Felix… playing along with Daryl… And there between the strings was a thin slip of paper Paul recognized immediately. Staring up from the fretboard were his and Daryl’s smiling faces, four shots from a photobooth. One shot was silly, with crossed eyes and tongues out. The last showed Daryl smiling wide as Paul kissed him on the side of his mouth. Turning it over, in Daryl’s scrawl was one word: _Lee_.

Without haste, Paul packed up the guitar, tucking the photos into his jacket.

*  
*  
*  
Lee Memorial, too, was deserted. The doors were open, blowing in debris from the parking lot and the street outside. It appeared that all the residents had been taken out and housekeeping had come through and cleaned. The rooms looked sterile and lacked many personal items he knew the residents to have. The kitchen was a disaster however, most of the pantry emptied. Paul checked the clip in his gun and tucked it into his waistband. Floor by floor and room by room, he checked for coworkers or residents, and in the back of his mind, still hopeful, Daryl. Though they had taken a beating, the medication carts were all still intact and most of the medical supplies were still stocked in the nursing closet.

Paul carefully made his way to the basement, where the offices were. He knew the medication cart keys would be in the Director of Nursings’ office, which he had a key to. Emergency lights cast an eerie red glow over the rooms, and he pulled out his cell phone to use it’s flashlight. With no windows, the basement was so much like a tomb, it gave Paul the chills. In the red light, he nearly missed the writing on the message board right next to the Director’s office, as he moved to unlock it. 

_Going South, Kings County._  
Stay safe, I’ll find you.  
D. 

Underneath the scrawl was an arrow pointing down and to the left. Paul traced his finger over the D, nearly erasing the single letter. He knew the writing to be Daryl’s. Again, his boyfriend spurred him on. Following the arrow, tucked behind another office door, he found a half-full rucksack. Inside were several MREs, a box of ammunition for Paul’s weapon, and several other useful items. The top handle of the backpack was tied with a leather cord, which had a strange wear pattern perfectly placed evenly along it. It gave Paul pause, as it was clearly something Daryl wanted him to see.

With renewed purpose, he opened the office and quickly found the extra medication cart keys, hefting the rucksack onto his back.

It was only 2pm, and having only the most general of directions to go on, he forced himself to take his time. Making camp in one of the resident rooms on the first floor, Paul gathered supplies. Painkillers and antibiotics from the medication carts, syringes, bandages, medical tape, dressings from nursing supply. He took tools, duct tape and rope from maintenance, raiding the pantry and kitchen for anything Daryl and Merle had left behind. He made a bedroll out of the warmest blankets he could find, going room to room. He was reluctant to go through the belongings the residents had left behind, twisting his heart a little to see the trinkets and photos they might never be able to hold in their hands again. He almost stopped when he opened the lock box of a resident he knew to be a World War II Veteran. Old photos spilled out, revealing 3 fixed-blade knives in a leather case. 

“Thank you Earl…” Paul whispered into the room, adding the find to his load of supplies. Earl had often tested the patience of the Lee Memorial staff, drinking, smoking, grabbing nurses. Today, however, his penchant for breaking the rules proved to be good luck for Paul.

It was the last good luck he would have for a very long time.

Paul slept barricaded in a resident room, fitfully waking at every noise. The old building settled like a wooden house, the ancient heating and cooling systems still kicking on to keep the nursing home at an even temperature. He refused to let his brain process that he had killed Alex earlier that same day. He focused instead on the memory of a quiet morning with his love, waking up in a warm embrace. As soon as the sun breached the horizon, he cooked and ate the last of the refrigerated food and loaded his little jalopy with supplies. He emptied the riding mower and gas tools into a couple of jerry cans in the home’s garage and strapped them to the top of the car. Looking around at the once bustling street, Paul set the rucksack in the passage seat and set off toward the highway. His only goal was to find Daryl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter.
> 
> To quell questions - I envision Daryl to be younger, Season 2 Daryl. They are softer than they will become later on.


	9. Quarry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a weight is lifted, mean boys are a little nicer.

The blue of the water at the bottom of the quarry glittered, reminding Daryl absently of his brother’s narrow blue eyes. Rick’s hand was heavy on his shoulder, Rick’s voice was far away and hollow. Merle was dead. Disbelief kept Daryl glued to the spot, staring down at the lake, trying to process what he’d just heard.

“I’m sorry, man. I saw him, and I remember what he did to Donnie, and I just reacted.” Rick’s grip on Daryl’s shoulder never wavered. Merle was dead. Rick Grimes was alive. The man who had been both his nemesis and his savior his entire life, the man who had killed the first person he had loved was gone. When Daryl had broken down and given his testimony in court, Rick vowed to never let Merle hurt his friend again. Detective Grimes had stayed true to his word and left a corpse of Merle Dixon on top of a building in Atlanta, rotting in the summer sun.

“I was waiting for Paul when he showed up. Made me leave him behind. He might be my brother, but I ain’t sad that sonofabitch is dead.” Daryl’s voice was soft, but full of conviction. His usual closed off demeanor was absent and he stood with his hands at his sides, chin up.

Rick sighed heavily. “We’ll find Paul. I know we will. I found my family, and we’ll find him too. He’s tough – he’s gonna be out there somewhere.” Daryl just nodded. “You gonna be OK?”

“I’ll be fine, when I find Paul.” Daryl nodded.

Rick pulled Daryl into a brotherly hug and left him standing on the ridge overlooking the lake. After a few minutes contemplation, Daryl grabbed his crossbow and disappeared back into the forest.

The noise of the camp faded as Daryl walked deeper into the woods. He turned the last few months over and over in his mind as he walked. His time with Paul seemed like a dream, the memory of a vacation taken as a young child that one can only vaguely recall. He held fast to the things he loved most about the other man and put them on repeat in his mind’s eye. Paul’s eyes, his laugh, his scent. The way the younger man’s hands would find their way to his stomach and chest while riding through Athens on Daryl’s bike.

Absently wiping his hands on a rag he pulled from his pocket, Daryl took out his nearly useless cellphone. He knew without looking that it’s battery was at 50%. He quickly turned it off again, tucking it into the front pocket of his jeans. With a deep sigh he focused his attention back to the trees. He walked silently through the undergrowth, senses keen for any noise that might signal an animal worth hunting. He tried to keep his mind blank, though the phone is his pocket burned a hole there. 

Daryl returned to camp with a brace of squirrels on his hip, sitting down to skin them before his mind could wander. As he worked, one of the young women in camp would stare at him as she passed, giving a wan little smile whenever they made eye contact. Daryl vaguely registered that her name was Amy.

Finished with his task, he set up his firepit with squirrel meat over it like a spit, and moved to wash his hands in the bucket next to the RV. He could hear the shrill voice of woman complaining inside to an older man named Dale, “Tissue paper? A notebook? Anything?” While Dale lamented their lack of wrapping paper options during the apocalypse, Daryl hastily rummaged through his bag, tearing a sheet of paper out of a notebook. Swallowing through his awkwardness, he brought it inside where the woman, Andrea, still rummaged through the RV’s many storage compartments. 

“Here.” Daryl sat down at the table without a response, Andrea regarding him with curiosity. He carefully folded and then tore the notebook page into a perfect square. Using the dull edge of his knife, he began folding the square of paper. Andrea sat down opposite him at the table, smiling when she realized what he was doing. Gently lifting the odd crinkle of folded paper to his lips, he blew a puff of air into it. The lump popped up into a small cube. Holding the delicate origami between his fingers, he presented it to Andrea. “Will this work?” 

Andrea smiled wide as she took the box from Daryl. “Yes, thank you!” Daryl gave a small smile back, that didn’t touch his eyes. “Hey.” Andrea reached over and put her hand on Daryl’s. “I am sorry about your brother.”

Daryl pulled his hand away and stood abruptly. “I’m not.” He stalked out of the RV, leaving Andrea to believe whatever she liked about him.

Near sundown, Daryl helped a Hispanic man named Morales and his young son to build up the fire pits with rocks after gutting a glut of fish Andrea and Amy caught in the lake. He was trying to keep his mind occupied. As the other kids in the camp started bringing him the kindling he asked them to find, the sound of a vehicle echoed through the quarry. Detective Grimes and an attractive Korean man named Glenn returned in the box truck they had taken back to the city. Rick was smiling and Glenn looked none the worse for the wear, carrying a large duffle bag. The barrels of several rifles peeked out of the bag, which was rattling with loose ammunition. With hugs and brotherly back slaps, even Detective Grimes’ old cop buddy Shane was happy to see the weapons cache.

Feeling accomplished, the group sat down to a dinner of wild greens, fish and squirrel, with a bag of stale chips to pass around. One of the other women in the group, Carol, had wrapped peeled apples in aluminum foil with the last of their butter, cinnamon and brown sugar to make baked apples. The brown sugar was nearly rock hard, but after Daryl offered up the last dash of whiskey from Merle’s belongings, it melted right into the meat of the fruit.

As dinner wound down, Daryl sat on the outside of the circle around the fire, listening but not really participating in the conversation. He enjoyed watching his friend Rick Grimes enjoying his family, even if it did sting to think of the people he had left behind. Rick noticed his friend watching him across the fire and disentangled himself from his family to sit near Daryl.

“Thank you, for all this.” Rick said kindly. “I’m grateful to have a skilled hunter in the group.”

“It’s fine. What you did back there, in Atlanta? You did me a favor. I just wish we had found Paul before we left Athens. Shit, I have no idea what happened to Felix either.”

Rick bowed his head. Paul had been on his mind as well, his absence keenly felt by them both. “We’re gonna have to come up with a game plan, can’t stay here forever. Need a solid base to start from so we can go find the rest of our people.” Rick said with conviction. “Found you something.” Daryl frowned at his friend as Rick dug in his front pocket. In the firelight, it appeared to be a ball of string, but as Daryl plucked it out of Rick’s open hand, his eyes grew wide: headphones.

Daryl could only nod in thanks. Talking about Paul Rovia always left a lump in his throat that he struggled to swallow around. But it had been obvious to at least one person that there was something on that cell phone Daryl kept pulling out to study.

Behind Daryl, Rick looked up to see Amy entering the RV, smiling over at the two men. “I should tell her she’s not Daryl’s type…” Rick thought, before a flicker of movement shifted his attention. A reanimated corpse was coming around the front of the RV, between Amy and the two men. The expression on his face must have shifted; quicker than Rick could react, Daryl rose and looked to where Amy was holding the RV door. Before Rick could form a word of alarm, before Amy registered the danger, Daryl had grabbed the corpse by the clothing and raised his knife. Amy began screaming as the blade went through the eye socket of the walker and he let it fall limply to the ground.

The entire camp mobilized then, reacting to the growing sound of the undead coming closer. Rick shouted and began ushering all the children into the RV, as Daryl ran for his crossbow. Shane barked names as he armed everyone he thought could handle a gun. Many campers already had firearms on their person and began taking out the dead.

The siege lasted less than five minutes. Mothers and children peered out of the RV windows with worried faces, as the camp fell silent, those with guns and knives covered in old, rank blood and viscera. The RV door clicked cautiously open, Amy poking her head out, to see the others inspecting the dead to make sure they were no longer a threat.

“All clear.” Shane called. The door swung wide and people spilled out, running toward spouses and parents. Shane’s face took on a sour twist as Rick’s wife and son ran into his arms. Shane turned away and shoulder-checked Daryl as he stalked off.

“What the hell, man?” The words were nearly forced from Daryl’s mouth as a body was flung against him, arms holding tight around his neck. Amy’s long blonde hair whipped into his face and mouth.

“Oh my God, Daryl, thank you!” Amy pulled away to look at the man she had thrown herself at, her eyes red and swollen from crying. “You saved my life!”

Daryl awkwardly disentangled himself from Amy’s arms and ducked his head shyly. “Ain’t nothin no one else wouldn’t have done.”

Amy smiled and to Daryl’s chagrin it was obvious she was flirting. Here they were, at the end of the world, having just been attacked by a gang of corpses, and this girl was flirting. “I owe you a life-debt.” Amy said conspiratorially. “Just say the word, Dixon.” She walked off to find her sister in the subdued chaos.

A shrill cry went up across the camp, where the ruined heap of Carol’s tent lay in it’s side. Shane and Rick went running toward it, followed closely by Daryl and Glenn. Carol’s husband Ed could be seen flailing about, tangled in the rip-stop nylon, through a mesh window. His eyes were white, lifeless orbs, his face and neck a ruin of blood and gristle. 

Glenn quickly led Carol away from the scene, helping her into the RV where her young daughter waited for her. Shane swung at the corpse of Ed Peletier with a crowbar, and he slumped into real death.

*********************************

 

The next day, as the bodies of the dead were burned and the group laid Ed Peletier to rest, Daryl slunk off to be alone. He escaped the grueling work in the shimmering Georgia heat and climbed down the rock face of the quarry to sit on a small outcropping of rock above the lake. The spot was shielded from the sun by an overhang further along the trail, and it was a cool respite for his tired soul.

Daryl took out his phone, now at 47%, quickly flipping through the photographs. Felix and his niece at the beach. Paul laughing beneath a street light behind Bertie’s. The band on stage, arms around each other after taking a bow. A selfie taken by Paul at a stop light, smiling faces just visible through the opening in their helmets. Paul, hair loose, waiting for him to clock out of work, a candid shot that Paul never knew he took. Daryl traced his thumb over the angles of Paul’s face, recalling the way his boyfriend would look up at him from such a position, cerulean blue eyes mischievous and precluding a brilliant smile. Looking out over the quarry, Daryl pulled out the tangled headphones from Rick and a pack of off-brand cigarettes. He untangled the cord well enough to be useful and sat back against the cool rock as he lit a cigarette.

While looking over the cool blue water, sweat drying on his skin and calming nicotine in his lungs, Daryl began to listen to the recordings on his phone. He held his breath and the first few chords were strummed with hesitancy, closing his eyes when Paul began to sing in earnest. He could hear the moment when Felix adjusted the input on the computer, the music becoming more crisp, Paul’s voice standing out a little further from the guitar.

The song ended and the banter between Felix and Paul was clear as day. Daryl closed his eyes and let the burn of regret and guilt build in his chest. He felt wholly responsible for Paul, for leaving him and not trying harder to say no to his brother. Merle’s cruel smile and stinking breath brought him back to watching his brother beat Daryl’s boyfriend to a pulp, leaving Donnie in a wheezing puddle on the sidewalk. If Merle could do that to Donnie he could do the same to Paul. Tears grew heavy in Daryl’s eyes and he let them fall, pulling his knees up and allowing his head to sag. Felix and Paul were singing together about seeing forever, seeing paradise. He would never forgive himself if his fear of Merle cost Paul his life or he may spend the rest of his life tortured, never knowing. The not knowing was the worst. It stabbed at him like a dull spoon in his ribs. He pinched the bridge of his nose, attempting to stem the tears that threatened to come faster.

Daryl’s thoughts were interrupted by pebbles and dirt falling down onto his perch, and the sound of someone coming down to where he sat. A moment later, a red Converse sneaker peaked over the edge and brought with it a mane of blonde hair.

“I thought I saw you sneak off to get out of burning duty.” Amy sat down next to Daryl, her shoulder solidly pressed against his. “Slacker.” She smiled.

“Ain’t slackin.” Daryl pulled the headphones off and quickly wiped at his eyes.

Amy caught the movement. She stilled beside Daryl, understanding that she interrupted a moment. “You OK?”

“Anyone OK nowadays?” Daryl scowled, looking out onto the lake instead of meeting Amy’s eyes.

“I’m sorry… Is it your brother?” Amy placed a hand on Daryl’s thigh.

With a sigh, Daryl pulled up a picture of Paul on his phone and tilted it so Amy could see. “I left my boyfriend in Athens. I was waiting for him to come back to my apartment when Merle showed up. Merle… Merle was in prison for killing my last boyfriend, so…”

Amy’s eyes were wide. “Shit.” It was clear that she was at a loss for words.

“Yeah.” Daryl turned off the phone and wrapped the headphone cord around it. “Paul’s tough though. He’s into martial arts and shit. Rick and I taught him how to use a gun. He’ll be alright.” It wasn’t clear if Daryl was trying to convince Amy or himself.

“We’re gonna find him, Daryl.” Amy reached out and placed her hand over Daryl’s, much like her sister had done the day before. “And, um, I’m sorry. I didn’t know…”

Daryl chuckled softly. “S’ok.” Daryl tucked the phone away again. 40%. He bumped his shoulder against Amy’s. She looked up shyly and smiled. “Friends?”

“Yeah,” Amy replied. “Friends.”


End file.
